Reinvention
by swinglifeawayxx
Summary: And what exactly are you trying to do?"he asked angrily, tired of being out of the loop, a loop in which she was apparently alone. Her head snapped up at his question, her icy blue eyes burning into his. Her lips parted. "Reinventing myself." Twoshot.


**Reinvention**

_swinglifeawayxx_

**_Part I of II_**

* * *

F e b r u a r y - 2 0 1 0

His hand reached over, fumbling around blindly, until it grasped the vibrating metal device on his nightstand. Not bothering to look at the name, he pressed what he hoped was the "answer" button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he whispered sleepily.

"_Get up, Nicholas,"_ the caller commanded impatiently.

He shot straight up in his bed, his gaze darting around disorientedly. The phone clutched to his ear emitted an aggravated sigh, or rather, _she_ emitted a rather aggravated sigh.

"_**Miley?** _Is that you? Wha-"

"_Oh, don't start freaking out_," she answered brusquely. "_It's not like I haven't called you before_." He pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing at the name on the screen to reassure himself, before replacing it back against his head and speaking.

"Miley, seriously, what the he-"

"_Okay, listen_," she cut him off again. "_I need your help_." He glanced to the clock on his bedside table, shaking his head when he read the screen.

"Miley, it's 1:36 in the morning, and we haven't spoken in months. Why are you calling me?" he asked, confused. All traces of sleep seemed to have left him abruptly. What the _hell_ was she doing?

"_Are you going to help me or not_?" She ignored his question, brushing it away carelessly.

He looked around his dark bedroom helplessly, wondering what the hell was going on. Why was Miley Ray Cyrus, whom he hadn't had a real conversation with since their second breakup in August of 2009, calling him in the middle of the night on a Tuesday in February of 2010? Why in the name of all that is holy was she yelling at him in the middle of the night to help her with something he was clueless about? Why him? What could possibly be that urgent?

She was on a mission for something, that was for sure. He knew her well enough to know that she would be relentless -- and he needed to know why.

He ran a hand through his curls agitatedly.

"I - uh - fine. Yeah, fine. What is it?" he blurted out.

"_Meet me at the cliffs down at Bainbridge Beach in twenty minutes_."

The dial tone rang in his ear.

* * *

"What the fuck am I doing here?" he mumbled to himself, sitting on the hood of his car. He had sat incredulously in bed, staring at the phone in his hand for a good two minutes after she abruptly ended their unexpected phone call, before jumping up and throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He had taken care to run a hand through his curls a few times and grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone, before slipping quietly from the sleeping house. Now here he sat, on the cliffs at Bainbridge Beach, waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn't quite sure.

"I can't do this alone," a voice said bluntly from next to him. "_That's_ why you're here." He jumped, startled, and his head whipped to the right, his gaze locking on _her._

It had been long, long months since he had seen her - she hadn't changed much, besides being able to call herself seventeen. There were still the same blue eyes, glowing a near silver in the light from the moon, looking as dead as they had for months. The newly usual dark eye makeup surrounded them. There was still the flawless, pale skin, and the rosy lips; the slightly crooked, blindingly white teeth were still behind those lips. His gaze traveled downwards. There was still the long, elegant neck, sheathed in a high-necked, leather coat, the same beautiful curves of her breasts, the same tiny waistline. Her long, slender legs were covered by skintight, shimmering leggings, and tall leather boots, the new norm for Miley Cyrus. In her right hand she held a duffel bag, under her left arm, there was a shoebox. His eyes gradually traveled back up toward her face, only to be met with an icy gaze.

"Miley," he said hoarsely, unable to look away. She simply nodded, rolling her eyes in apparent annoyance. "Why are we here?"

Once again, she ignored his question, instead turning and beginning the trek up to the top of the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. Glancing nervously around, he sighed, then silently followed her. She didn't glance back once on the two minute climb, but merely adjusted the box underneath her arm and plowed ahead. Gradually, the rocky ground beneath their feet began to level out, and she stopped and set her baggage down. He came to a stop next to her, overlooking the breathtaking view.

The moon was full, casting bright beams off of the water below; the ocean was eerily calm, reflecting the distorted image of the sky off of it's glassy surface. The jagged edges of the cliffs seemed to crumble into the sea, sinking below the water line with submission. The wind blew gently across the ocean, creating a ripple here and there, but the little bay surrounded by the cliffs was nearly perfectly still. Beyond the bay he could see the open ocean, rougher than the enclosed area, but still unbelievably calm for a winter night.

"It's beautiful," he commented after a few moments of silence. She snorted.

"Don't get too used to it," she said sharply. "It's supposed to storm soon."

As he glanced at her, she turned and walked back, a few feet from the edge, to where the shoebox and the bag were sitting. Throwing her hair behind her shoulder, she lowered herself to sit cross-legged before the items. As he watched, she glanced back at him.

"Come on," she said, motioning to a spot in front of her. Before he could say anything, she turned back around and began to unzip the bag. He sighed once more and moved to sit opposite her.

"What _exactly_ am I doing here?" he asked once again, as he watched her pull a plastic bag full of what appeared to be a change of clothes out of the duffel, followed by a mirror. She ignored his question and went about her task -- whatever it was.

"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed. "You can't just wake me up randomly in the middle of the night after not talking to me for half a year, tell me to meet you down at a place we used to hang out at when we were thirteen, and then_ not tell me why I'm here!"_

"I already told you," she said plainly, not looking up at him. She pulled the top off of the shoebox; from out of this she pulled a big manila envelope, sealed shut, a pair of scissors, and a lighter"You're here because I needed someone who I have some semblance of trust for, and I can't do this alone. Plus, you're a big part of my past - it wouldn't work without you." He glared at the top of her head, which was bent over her task.

"And what exactly are you trying to do?"he asked angrily, tired of being out of the loop, a loop in which she was apparently alone.

Her head snapped up at his question, her icy blue eyes burning into his. Her lips parted.

"Reinventing myself."

* * *


End file.
